Not a Jacuzzi
by Nana-41175
Summary: Written for MI6 Cafe's Anon Gift Exchange for December! Prompt: The heat is broken at Six. Q is so cold that the only solution is to sneak into the agents' locker room and use the Jacuzzi. Except... well we can guess which agent always lingers long after hours. Naughty, naughty. James finds Q naked and sipping tea and climbs right in. What could go wrong? *COMPLETE*


**Author's Notes:** Written for MI6 Cafe's Anon Gift Exchange for December!

**Prompt:** The heat is broken at Six. Q is so cold that the only solution is to sneak into the agents' locker room and use the Jacuzzi. Except... well we can guess which agent always lingers long after hours. Naughty, naughty. James finds Q naked and sipping tea and climbs right in. What could go wrong?

It was not a Jacuzzi.

For the record, Q would like to have it known that the fixture installed in the spacious shower area inside the double-O agents' locker room was a state-of-the-art Delta Whirpool and Underwater Massage Bath, a hydrotherapy tub specially designed to assist in the treatment of neuromuscular problems and improve blood circulation, and a valuable aid in the physical therapy sessions of the double-O's, given their propensity for work-related injuries.

Like every other device in Q branch, he knew the intimate details of this fancy bathtub because he'd put his signature to the proposal papers. If they'd put the word "Jacuzzi" in their order requisition, the thing would not have made it past Accounting, or M, for that matter. God only knew how it twisted M in knots, having to go through the grinding sessions of budget-begging for Six in Whitehall. God only knew what the public would say, if word ever got out that there was a Jacuzzi installed somewhere in a government institution (no matter how secret) and was picked up by the trash papers.

So, no. It was definitely not a Jacuzzi.

Although it felt like one, thought Q with a long sigh of pleasure as he lowered himself into the warm, churning waters. It even looked like one, with its elegant features: smooth white porcelain shaped in an elongated oval that could easily accommodate two people, and a high-tech switchboard installed on the wall beside it, specially modified by Q. The controls could even be voice activated.

He was responsible for its acquisition, so it was about time he gave it a go.

Besides, it was a slow night at Q branch and they'd turned the heating off at his workstation. For maintenance purposes, one understands, and given that nobody in their right mind would think to hang around the office at one in the morning (with the exception of himself and some minions, but then they were on duty, so they were hardly out of their minds), the maintenance crew figured they really wouldn't be bothering anybody.

Q had tried to sit it out by padding himself with an extra sweater and coat, but when he'd found himself stuck in front of his tiny space heater like a barnacle to a ship, he'd given up and decided to take things into his own hands.

Why suffer like this when one could pass the time in luxurious comfort?

Besides, who would know any better? There was hardly anyone in the building; definitely none of the double-O's would be there. The most troublesome of the lot was on a flight back home from Greece. Q definitely would not be seeing 007 here tonight.

So now here he was, after sending word to the minions that he would be on call, settling down happily in the delicious warm waters of the hydrotherapy tub that was not a Jacuzzi (it's even better!), with a glass of tea and his phone within easy reach.

_No dreary hospital equipment, this,_ thought Q proudly as he ran appreciative fingers over the softly gleaming porcelain.

For a while, he fiddled with the controls, gleefully testing the intensity and patterns of the water sprays and jet streams until he got the combination just right. He sipped at his tea contentedly and tapped at his phone before finally putting it away. Removing his glasses, he set a warm, moist towel over his eyes and leaned back, a wide grin on his face, letting his body go with the flow of the water.

Ah, such bliss! He could stay here forever.

Of course, that was before he heard the glass door slide open a few feet away.

Startled, he jerked upright, warm towel sliding off his eyes as he blinked and registered a blurred figure walking toward him.

"Wh— who…?" he breathed, one hand fumbling for his glasses. Who the hell would think to enter the area, knowing it was occupied?

He froze as he heard a familiar voice, deep and highly amused, say, "why, hello, Q."

Shit! Thought Q as he hurriedly put his glasses on.

_Why?_ He thought despairingly. _Why must it be him?_

007\. It always had to be 007 who'd catch him unawares and in less-than-ideal circumstances. It seemed like the man had a built-in radar for detecting when the best time would be to catch Q with his pants down— in this case, quite literally.

Worse, it was 007 clad in nothing but a towel riding low on his hips.

Q swallowed hard. "007. What brings you h— I say, man, what are you doing?"

His words ended in a high-pitched note of panic as Bond nonchalantly discarded his towel and got into the tub. For a dizzying second, Q was treated to the sight of a rugged, muscular body, golden and quite glorious. And bloody hell, the physical endowments of this man did not stop there.

Q was scrambling frantically out of the tub before he could think things through. He was halfway up before he remembered he'd left his towel along with his neatly folded clothes outside the cubicle. He didn't want the steam and the water to get to them.

Bond sat on his end of the tub and watched him with mild interest. The amusement remained, mixed with a bit of scoffing. "There's plenty of room for two, here, Q. You need not leave on my account."

This was bloody ridiculous, and Q was not about to ramp up the hilarity by scampering away like a wet, frightened kitten with his hands on his privates. He sat back down abruptly with a huge splosh of water and glared at Bond.

"What are you doing here, Bond?" he said, his voice severe.

"My flight landed earlier than expected and M needed the USB as soon as possible," replied Bond with a small shrug.

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"It was cold outside," objected Bond. "You can't expect me to wait out there forever while you take your sweet time in here."

Q stared at him tersely for a moment more before he said, "right. I should go. I only ever told them I would be away for fifteen minutes, and it's been—"

"I was just over at your division looking for you and nothing's going on there. You're not missed, Quartermaster," said Bond as he lay back and relaxed against the tub. "Stay."

"Bond!" exclaimed Q as he felt Bond land a heavy leg over his under the water, preventing him from getting up. "Let go!"

"Huh-uh," said Bond, shaking his head.

"This is absolutely unacceptable," snapped Q.

"Hmm, not as unacceptable as your lack of reply to my request," said Bond as a dangerous little smile flitted through his mouth.

"What request?" said Q.

He knew bloody well what request. How could he possibly forget when it was seared into his memory?

Before Bond left for Athens, he'd boldly and in no uncertain terms asked Q out to dinner. The only reason Q had managed to evade him was because M had executed a perfectly timed, if unknowing, phone call to him at that very moment.

He'd managed to eel his way out of that situation; but faced with Bond in a bathtub that was not a Jacuzzi, with the man's legs effectively preventing him from getting up, much less leaving, Q found himself quite trapped.

There was, he had to admit, something that had been building up between them in the past few months, silent but sure. Q just never imagined it would culminate in this highly regrettable scenario.

"Come on," said Bond, his voice coaxing. "What's so objectionable about dinner?"

"There's nothing wrong with dinner," said Q, voice rising. "But dinner with you is—"

"You're too tense," Bond cut in. "You should relax more. You're here in this lovely Jacuzzi—"

"It's not a Jacuzzi!"

"—You should at least enjoy it," continued Bond as though Q had not spoken. "Here, I know just the thing."

Q gave a startled yelp as Bond reached down to pull up his foot from the water.

"What the hell, Bond!"

"Relax, I know what I'm doing," said Bond in all seriousness. "I learned this while I was in Thailand a few months back. You're going to like this."

He pushed into the flesh of Q's sole with a firm thumb, and Q felt as though he'd been electrocuted; the holler that left him was a striking sound—a toss-up between a shriek and incredulous laughter.

"Oh, _shit!"_

"I knew you'd like it," said Bond, grinning, clamping down on Q's leg as he made to pull away.

"Stop, oh, bloody hell—!" Q cried as Bond started his foot massage in earnest, kneading at the sensitive skin of Q's instep before going for Q's toes one by one.

"It's quite heavenly, isn't it?" said Bond, and all Q could manage was a strangled sound as he sat there, head thrown back, eyes wide and mouth gaping, helpless hands grasping the sides of the tub.

Q had never had a foot massage before. He'd never trusted anyone near his feet, period. He found any procedure involving this part of his anatomy to be strange, almost repellent. But now, this. Shockingly intimate, yes. Unbearably ticklish, yes; but it was also almost too good. It was diabolical, how incredible the sensations were that shot through Q.

"Do you know that in reflexology, each pressure point represents a certain organ in the body?" remarked Bond conversationally, but Q was beyond listening.

"Oh, fuck! Bond, _please!"_ This, after Bond pressed a particularly tender point somewhere in the upper part of Q's sole.

"Please, what?"

"Stop. Please! I'll do anything!" wheezed Q.

"But I haven't started on the other foot yet," protested Bond. "We can't just leave that—"

"Dinner, if we must," Q panted. "Just, no more."

"We'll have to take a rain check on the other one, then," said Bond with a sigh.

"I can't leave the building though," huffed Q. "I'm on duty, after all."

"Fine," Bond said, smiling. "We can have dinner delivered. I'm starving."

"Can I have my foot back now, please?" said Q cautiously.

"Was it really that awful?" inquired Bond, suddenly concerned, watching as Q nursed his affected part gingerly.

It was bloody brilliant, thought Q, but Bond did not need to know that. It felt too good and he could not allow it to continue. He could not allow Bond such freedoms over his person too soon, too quickly. He was glad the steam and the warm water were there to hide the reason behind his flushed face.

_This isn't an infatuation, much less love,_ thought Q stubbornly. _Just like this hydrotherapy tub is not a Jacuzzi._

He would need time to figure out what this was between himself and Bond.

"We…may continue," he said after clearing his throat, "maybe at some other time when I'm more…used to it."

Bond smiled. That was good enough.

They settled back in the water, the silence between them somehow more comfortable this time. Q fought the smile that threatened to emerge by biting his lips.

"You're a stubborn man, Bond," he said.

"I'm sure you already know I can be quite determined in getting my own way," said Bond pleasantly.

"Are you?" said Q as he reached out with his much-fondled foot to land it squarely on Bond's chest.

The momentary flare of surprise in those light blue eyes was reward enough for Q. It was followed closely by an appreciative grin from Bond.

"Let's hope you know what you're getting yourself into," Q warned, his voice back to its serene cadences. "Don't get me started on things that I might get used to."

"Yes, sir," said Bond as he cradled Q's foot in both hands like something precious. He reached down briefly to land a light kiss on the dorsum. "We should do this more often. Meet here. Arrange a schedule. This Jacuzzi is bril—"

"_It's not a Jacuzzi!"_


End file.
